tell me darling
by doroniasobi
Summary: Atobe has never much liked music, he really hasn't, and maybe it would have been better if he hadn't tried to start. — AtobeRyoma. /for AtobeLover/


**A/N: For AtobeLover, who wanted another Royal fic. Hope you like it? n__n"**

* * *

tell me darling

Atobe has never been interested in music before, but when he comes across Oshitari's iPod one day after work, he picks it up and turns it on. He's known Oshitari long enough to say anything about him and he's absolutely sure that he would bet all of Jirou's money that he wouldn't get mad.

It's just how they work; it may be a bit strange, but it's alright, Atobe supposes.

He is flipping through Oshitari's sick love songs when Ryoma texts. He smirks (he really can't get the whole smiling thing down, but he's tried to, with Taki's helpful coaching; needless to say, he will never try again) at his phone, not missing the way Oshitari looks away pointedly, and texts back.

A line of a song catches his ear – he presses the left arrow button to listen to it again – _tell me darling, do you think we have a future?_ He writes it down on the napkin Jirou got for the coffee he bought.

The words are pretty, to even Atobe's own ears, even if they are a little bit cliché. They are still pretty, Atobe muses, even though the napkin tears on the words _darling_ and again on _we_. Oshitari looks at him and asks dryly if he knows what a napkin is used for.

Atobe huffs an offended breath and informs him that yes, he does, and wonders aloud if Oshitari is hygienic enough to use it. Oshitari rolls his eyes and adds another sugar to his coffee. Atobe continues to scroll through Oshitari's music artists.

When they leave, Atobe throws the iPod back at Oshitari, calling it useless, and slips the napkin into his pocket.

Oshitari rolls his eyes again.

* * *

Something happens between now and then; by evening, Atobe is upset with Ryoma and then Ryoma is upset too, and the almost fight – except Atobe restrains himself because he hates to fight but by the time he backs off, Ryoma is angry, angry with Atobe and angry with everyone and everything.

It becomes beyond Atobe's control when he tells Ryoma he's sorry.

Ryoma yells at him.

Then Atobe is upset.

He tries to find an appropriate way to breathe, and he regrets not slamming down the receiver, because he is just so, so angry.

He doesn't even care that he knocks down a few file folders he needs for work the next day and swears to himself. "Fuck," he says. "Fuck you," he adds to the telephone, and only gets angrier when it doesn't respond.

Later, in the dining room, Atobe empties his pockets, and the napkin rappears, words presenting themselves clearly and perfectly to Atobe – _tell me darling, do you think we have a future?_

It stops him for a second, but only just.

He doesn't throw the napkin away but he puts his keys on it to hold it down and cover up the words.

* * *

Atobe has never been patient. He tries to hold out, but only lasts nothing more than a couple hours when he checks his phone. No messages.

"Let me listen to that song again," he asks Oshitari. He's forgotten the tune, but not the line, and somewhere deep inside, he thinks, almost bitterly, that he will never forget it.

Oshitari is not stupid. He knows when Atobe's voice is thin and starts to wear out. He knows Atobe, and Atobe finds it incredibly, incredibly annoying when he realizes that it is impossible for Oshitari _not_ to know Atobe.

"Oh, that song," Oshitari says, after recognizing the line Atobe repeats to him. "It's the only one I like of that band."

It is just a _line_.

"Or it's the only song I have of theirs," Oshitari adds, giving a little shrug of his own and handing Atobe his iPod.

"Thanks," Atobe says, and Oshitari thinks that Atobe's voice is wearing thinner every passing minute.

* * *

Atobe complains into Jirou's unwilling ear for at least three hours after that.

"I'm not angry that he yelled at me," Atobe insists. Jirou nods. "I'm just frustrated. I was wrong."

Jirou nods again.

Atobe breaks off, looking so utterly disappointed and despondent that Jirou feels like he needs coffee. It's the fifth cup he's had.

"Is he worth it, Atobe?" Jirou finally asks, after a long while.

Atobe looks at Jirou and is reminded of why exactly he goes to him. Jirou is most certainly not just a tired little boy who falls over at every second he can. Jirou listens, and while he may love sleeping as much as he does, he is a good listener, and for that, Atobe is eternally grateful.

But right now, Atobe's expression says that this is exactly what he says himself. What he asks himself. What he's been asking from the very start.

"I don't know," he says. "Sometimes."

"And others?" Jirou prompts.

"Like now?"

"Yeah."

"Now, maybe. But not after. Not when he's gotten over it and I haven't. Not when I realize I don't have to be sorry anymore and that I can be angry again." Jirou is a little bit startled, Atobe can tell; it might have been the unorthodox of everything he's said that morning. "It's always like this."

"And he doesn't get it?"

"_I_ don't," Atobe says, and his deep frown causes creases across his face. "You know, right after I hung up, I saw that napkin."

"What napkin?"

Atobe pulls it out and throws it on the table they're sitting across. It's slightly tattered, a little bit worn, but the words he's written are still clear. "The song," he says. "The future line."

And Jirou understands. "That sucks."

"Maybe it's a sign," Atobe says, and wonders why he feels so bleak, so tired. He wonders why he has to see the end from the beginning.

Jirou shrugs. "Now," he begins, "that's the sixth time you've tucked that same strand of hair behind your ear. Time for cup number six."

* * *

Atobe caves by four, and with trembling fingers, he calls Ryoma again.

Ryoma, this time, is only lukewarm; by the time he hangs up, Jirou takes one look at Atobe's face and says, "Let's go for ice cream. Coffee won't do it this time."

"It's his own fucking fault if I get fat," Atobe says, and Jirou leads him off by the arm, nodding wearily.

Atobe doesn't bother calling Ryoma anymore; he's called too much, and the last time he did, Momoshiro had been there and he'd yelled at Atobe _for_ Ryoma.

It had taken many, many amounts of willpower for Atobe not to drop his phone and break altogether.

Instead, Atobe decides to text Ryoma this time. He is thinking of what to say, how to apologize, how to patch things up and have them start over again.

In the end, he sends him just one line:

_Tell me darling, do you think we have a future?_

In the end, there is no need to wait for an answer, because he knows one will never come.

Atobe sets himself in front of the computer and with trembling fingers, types the line in Google for good measure, and gets a YouTube result.

He clicks on the link and rests his head on his finely polished desk, closing his eyes and listening to the soft tinkling of the music playing.

In the end, there is no answer, and Atobe sits there, with his head on his desk and a wish for someone to mend his broken heart.

* * *

_Owari_

_2010.04.18_


End file.
